


Strangers

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten





	Strangers

2277\. Nineteen- that’s fifteen less than him; he did the math one night- but there’s something hard in her eyes. Harder than he thinks he’ll ever be.

Walks right up to him, uptown. Cleaning his gun in the darkest corner he could find, where no one would find him. But she found him.

“Don’t you look like something out of a pre-war noir?”

Her voice glides, like sweat down necks. Spoke so easy, he almost answered. Put his magnum back together.

“Don’t talk much?” She didn’t even seem mad, bless her heart. He hid his face under his brim. “Need anything?”

He took one .44 out of his pocket, and loaded it. Spun the cylinder, shot over her shoulder. He disappeared while she was distracted.

Anacostia Crossing, heading down the escalators when she came up. Felt so normal to him, pass someone on the metro.

“Nice seeing you again.” she’d said. He nodded, like they did in the holotapes. Hid behind a pillar when her back turned.

Old office building. Couple more holes in her armor. And skin. Didn’t see him, that time. Dark in there.

She picked up a comic book with someone that looked like him on the cover, took a few moments to flip. Didn’t know about the raiders around the corner; he’d already been. Didn’t have her gun out. He did. Six shots, one dead, hands always shaky. Alerted her to the raiders- to him, too. But he moves quick. For his age.

Didn’t mean to, at first, just kind of did. Going the same way as his next contract, not  right to leave a vaultie with a 10mm to the muties. Didn’t know he was there- creepy, he knows. Habit to stay back. Couldn’t explain. She’d worry less that way.

Emptied the cylinder in a brute, has to hide in the rubble as he tries to reload. Takes him forever. Drops bullets from the shaking.

Mutant goes down, loud thump. Makes him jump, jolting what he wrestled into the cylinder out. They roll across the hardwood, and through a crack in the floor. No getting down there. Careful loading the two left in his hand. Rest of the police station to clear.

Uses what’s left in his gun on a mutant master, darts into another room. “Could really use some help in here...!” she shrieks, gunshots going off, rifles all. He digs through ammo boxes. Rifles, all.

By the time he manages to jam three .44s he found in a desk drawer into his magnum, the mutants are dead. He presses his back to a file cabinet just as she turns.

She’s just on the other side of the cabinet. Sounds like a revolver opening. Cases tinkling into a hand. Hand smacks them to a desk. Footsteps falling away. Cases rolling. He catches them before they hit the floor.

Bullets, not cases. Full cylinder of .44s, out of her own gun, left on a desk in the Germantown police station. Left for him.

He quits his job. He’s got a new one. Bodyguarding.

It’s not hard to live after her. He knows what’s safe to drink by whether or not she drinks it. Geiger counter on her wrist. She leaves Cram behind, makes too much mirelurk, and sets it out before she walks away. Sleeps every couple of days, exploring buildings or tunnels when the sun’s up, travelling in shadowy night. Loses her sometimes, always finds her again. Good at that. Never sleeps much, anyway. Scavenges while she does. Leaves any bullets he can’t use by whatever dingy mattress she’s curled up on. She leaves .44s.

Museum’s well-lit, well-populated. He hides out with the muties out front. She comes out with a ghoul. Doesn’t talk much. Takes better care of her than he does. She talks more with him around. Has a nice voice. Sings along with the radio. Or, tries to.

She steps on a landmine. Too far to see. Scream echoes for miles. Ghoul drags her back to town, long way.

He circles the city. Wonders if the water’s safe to drink. Three days, he waits. Fourth day he breaks. Goes in. She’s only got one leg, now, but she’ll be fine. Waves to him from a far walkway. He very nearly waves back.

He’s with her when she finds the man- with her since the office building in ‘77. She still has the comic. The man, older than himself, with a voice like melting ice cubes. Man with more age than wear, in a vault suit the other way ‘round. She starts giving him the .44s.

He’s not there when he dies. Picking up a contract at the time. Too far to hear her scream. Looking at her after it, though. Could still hear it.

Five days before he breaks, that time. Knows which house is hers, watched her learn to walk with one less leg, further from it each day. Feels wrong to pick the lock. Needs to see she’s there.

Ghoul’s asleep in the armchair, floor creaks like rusted protectrons. Creeps upstairs, light foot. Slow. Armor’s folder on the desk, she’s asleep. Anything but peaceful. Touches the hat resting on a file cabinet. Looks like his.

Floor creaks. Stock-still. Blue eyes creep open, blink blurry in the dark. “...Dad?”

So that’s who he was. Knows where she gets the sweat-slick voice from. Knows to turn and run, before bodyguard wakes up. Real one.

Long time before she leaves. Comes out of the vault a second time. Ready for the world, this go. Picks up the greaser. Two vault kids with 10mms he’s gotta take care of.

With her in the pit. Most scared he’s ever been. When he finds out he doesn’t need to be. She fights like she’ll be the last thing on earth alive. Believes her, too.

Vault 87 she finds him. Magnum’s loud, echoes like ricochets. Spots him as he’s hurdling around a wall. She leans right in. “I know you don’t like talking much, but I just wanted to ask a couple questions.”

Shakes his head.

“Oh, come on. Easy ones, there’s no test at the end.” Way she says it, wishes he could answer. “You doing okay?”

Nods.

“Need anything?”

Shakes.

“Just one more, you’re doing fine. I wanted to thank you. You’ve really done a lot, and I don’t even know why. I’ll respect your privacy, though. Just, one question. What’s your name?”

He tries. Really tries. Weird sounds, none of which are right. Making a fool of himself. Could run for the other door.

She’s smart, though. Bless her heart. “You sure are shaky. Are you okay?”

Shakes his head.

She blinks. Cocks her head. Smart, though. “You can’t talk... can you?”

Shakes his head.

She nods, slow. Smiles. “Nice meeting you, Stranger.”

She leaves him be.

Next sleep, he wakes up to a couple .44s. One-shots a mutie with one.


End file.
